


Falling

by callmeflo



Series: Brittle Bones [3]
Category: Those Who Went Missing
Genre: Gen, Origin Prompt, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:47:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28794162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmeflo/pseuds/callmeflo
Summary: The monsters approach with thundering roars as they destroy every tree in their way.
Series: Brittle Bones [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1653349





	Falling

the forest seems infinite - in size, existence, peacefulness.

here, deep within its expanse, lit with only thin sunbeams breaking the canopy,

even the tiny ants know they are stepping on ancient roots, and the

mighty caribou, with antlers as large as the trees, tell tales from centuries ago still.

on the branches above them the fiftieth generation settles in,

nestling in a sturdy nook; the striking hawks, colourful warblers, and

splotchy bronze feathers of the rusty blackbirds.

their homes are handmade carefully from twigs and grass and lichen,

encasing their speckled eggs like soft knitted blankets, out of

reach of the foxes and wolves below. they are well practised.

seasons are ever changing, the last late snows now melted,

although the shift doesn’t always show in colours here:

perpetually green, for the most part,

pine and spruce and fir, waxy needles, pointy awls, flat scales.

rarer, dotted sparsely along the lake’s edge,

orange and yellow leaves of aspen and birch have fallen and rotted

and regrown now, lush and emerald.

closer to the earth, tangles of brambles and bushes of bracken

hang over the rug of velvet moss, and dotted in the spots of sunlight

with its iridescent petals and burst of stamens, delicate, beautiful,

is the blazing star; and beside it,

the bells of foxglove, petite forget-me-nots, brilliant alpine sunflowers.

hollowed branches are tiny ecosystems themselves,

tucked between the rough shards of bark are luminescent fungi, and

hollows are home to the hardworking ant colony,

ubiquitous, in perpetual movement,

neighbour to the mourning cloaks, chirping crickets, and

dragonflies over the water.

echoes of mating calls bounce through the tree trunks

reaching as far as nunavut and yukon both, and

in one dark spruce’s branches quivers a newly built

nest of fine architecture.

gently landing, the blackbird plucks a tuft of emerald sphagnum,

rearranges it to her liking, artistic, and settles in for the long haul.

one month is all it will take for her nestlings to fledge, yet she’ll stay until the

autumn chill approaches once again, like clockwork. but —

rumbling in the distance, 

screeching metal, buzzing electricity and unintelligible voices

approaching, closer than ever, with growling engines,

sounds not commonplace here in these deep, humanless woods

that do not want humans,

harsh noises and careless feet, wanting and taking and destroying.

elsewhere there are forests being torn down for timber, 

yet to regrow, kept stunted by vehicles that return relentlessly 

digging into the cleared earth for shiny rocks and slick oil until it’s completely

empty of life.

sat high above, a shadowed creature watches the events with vicious delight.

this is his domain: the ferns being snapped and squashed into the worsening mud

resemble those that drape over his back, and these toys walk right into his reach!

owl eyes stare unblinkingly down from the canopy

yet its pitch black body is distorted, wispy wings stretching until they obscure the sun,

enveloping the outsiders in darkness too thick to be natural.

vehement in their greed, the humans continue on

even as the trees grow shadowy arms that reach out to grab at them, 

running down the wrong paths, crashing their trucks into unwavering trees,

yelling into a void that answers back with laughter.

that little nest, abandoned from fright, 

rocks unsteadily on its disturbed branch as the shadow spirit brushes past

evicting it from its foundations, and it falls,

ever so softly it lands on a bed of trodden moss and lost petals and tumbled fungi.

in the chaos the humans don’t see it —

nor do they care —

though one being does: the wanderer hops down, his ferns rustling with anticipation.

how convenient to feel that spark of displacement, longing, astray.

easy pickings. 

it’s no effort at all to gather the fragile handful of sticks in his long fingers,

ready his magic…

what creature will emerge from his newest creation;

an audience for his fun, or a partner in crime, or

yet another toy?

**Author's Note:**

> origin prompt 2: losing their way
> 
> Base Score: 13 AP (Writing: 656 words)  
> +50 AP (Origin Prompt)  
> +5 AP (Elemental: 5 AP * 1)  
> +5 AP (Personal Work Bonus)  
> +20 AP (NPC Bonus)  
> +10 AP (Esk Interaction Bonus: 10 AP * 1)  
> Total AP per submission: 103
> 
> Base Score: 6.5 GP (Writing: 656 words)  
> +10 GP (Origin Prompt)  
> +4 GP (Poetry Bonus: 4)  
> Total GP per submission: 20.5


End file.
